For the Record
by SkippingThrough
Summary: A wannabe detective moves to Happy Harbor. Things get weird, but crazy is as crazy does. OC-insert into Young Justice.
1. Chapter 1

"My dad said today was a momentous occasion. The start of our new..." I trailed off with a sneeze. The audio recorder in my hand trembled with the force and almost slipped out of my hands.

I clutched the little black box possessively and sent out a rapid series of thank yous to whatever benevolent god let me catch the recorder in time. I wasn't about to start my journey by letting it tumble down the stairs.

This had been my third re-recording and it was already noon. There wasn't enough time to start my monologue over again. I sat down and carefully ended the recording before pressing play again.

"In some ways, he was right. Today is moving day, and it'll be the first time we'll be fending for ourselves without mom," I paused contemplatively. It probably wasn't right to shit-talk her. Oh well.

"She doesn't get a part in my tragic backstory. She didn't die or get critically injured and end up in a coma. She just got divorced and moved across the country.

Basically, she's not dead. She's just dead _to me._ " I hit the stop button with extra vigor. Forget treating this thing like an infant, I was _mad_. Screw her.

"Ellen! Get over here!" My dad yelled from downstairs. He was carrying a small cardboard box in his hands meticulously labelled _kitchenware_ and walking out to the U-Haul. I hoped her hadn't heard that part of my recording.

I tossed the small black box into my backpack.

"Hold your horses. I'm already packed!" I shouted. I stood up from the stair I had made myself comfortable on and stretched out my back. Several bones popped perilously just in time to greet my dad as he entered the house again.

He winced at the noise and I knew I had succeeded in annoying him.

"What's wrong, dad?" I deliberately cracked my knuckles and watched him shudder. Drama queen.

He watched me bound down the stairs and his usual grin made its way back onto his face.

"What?" I snapped. That came out meaner than I meant it to.

"It's time. You've said your goodbyes to the house, now it's my turn."

He turned to the wall and gave the paint covered plaster a mushy, loving kiss. I made a face and hurried outside to the car to the sound of my dad's victorious laughter.

Now that the divorce was over and my dad was able to get the last word, even though he wasted it by wishing her good luck instead of a meaner, more fun alternative he couldn't stand to stay in the house I grew up.

The moving van in our driveway just made the coming changes feel all the more real.

I took one last, lingering look behind me before squaring my shoulders and shutting the car door.

"I call shotgun," I said to nobody in particular.

After five minutes but what felt like half an hour, my dad finally entered the car. He shut the door with a snap that meant business and started the engine. The car engine rumbled in approval and I kicked my feet up on the dashboard with a mischievous look at him.

Dad rolled his eyes but moved to turn on the radio instead of swiping my feet off or reprimanding me. The sounds of generic 90s pop songs filled the air and he opened the windows.

"Next stop: Happy Harbor," He smiled.

I groaned at the drama. And the prospect of only stopping once when it was a near seven hundred mile journey.

"Next stop: a gas station. We're running low," I suggested. And we were off.


	2. Chapter 2

Convenience store food is way more satisfying than it should be.

Choosing between filling up my extra-large slushie cup with cherry and blue raspberry flavoring is the hardest decision of my life, but my dad was used to my hemming and hawing and the pacing I did before convincing myself that my flavor concoction was the best choice, so he didn't bother sticking around.

In fact, when I turned to ask for his opinion again, I saw he was talking to someone over the phone.

His eyebrows were furrowed and he was making that I-don't-like-this face, like he was disappointed in someone. I turned away and decided to question him about it some other time. There were more important things to focus on now.

Before the phone call, Dad suggested pouring myself a healthy mixture of both, but I shot him down pretty quickly.

There was no way I could stand myself if the colors were to mix together into that specific, ugly bruise-purple shade that I used to get when I was secretly shadowing my parents during Christmas, waiting for them to reveal the ultimate secret behind Santa Claus' existence.

Now that I'm older, I remember those memories with fond derision. _Silly me,_ I think, _I can't believe I didn't know that I could just record people instead of following them around with frumpy notepads all time time._

Eventually, my dad slipped his phone back into the pocket of his jeans and, spotting my full slushie cup, headed to the register. He was charitable enough not to mention the packet of gummy bears and the two corn dogs that I grabbed on the way.

We were hour seven hours into our road trip and both of us were tired - of each other and of sitting in the car.

We had exhausted all games of Eye Spy and even my dad's out-of-date tunes didn't make me groan in exasperation like they used to. I was too antsy for any sort of entertainment, unless you counted pulling my own hair out in frustration.

Obviously, when my dad had suggested we stop and take a break, we both shot out of the car at light speed.

Now, I unloaded my treasure grove of unhealthy goodies onto the creaky conveyor belt and watch them roll into the cashier's hands with satisfaction.

My dad's own stomach growled and we shared a grin. The cashier a stubbly looking college student with a lip piercing, looked as apathetic as he did when we entered the store.

I didn't think I'd seen him change expressions at all and we'd been in the store for fifteen minutes already.

"That'll be $10.32."

My dad took out his wallet to pay and his phone rang again. He glanced at it quickly before shutting it off.

 _That's weird. Even mom doesn't get that kind of reaction out of him._

My focus drifted onto the small television hidden away behind the counter. The volume was off and it was settled on some news program. A sleek, shiny looking limousine pulled up on screen. The door opened to show a dark-haired man, except I couldn't catch a very good look at his face because of the crowds and the camera angle.

I squinted but people were already swarming him and he hadn't even fully gotten out of the vehicle. The television was so old and fuzzy that I couldn't decipher the scrolling text on the bottom of the screen, either.

The camera switched to a news anchor sitting at her desk. The words 'BRUCE WAYNE ATTENDS GALA IN SUPPORT OF GOTHAM DISASTER RELIEF FUNDING' scroll across the bottom. So that's who that was. Mystery solved

I turned back just in time to catch my dad stuffing a handful of gummy bears into his mouth.

"Hey," I shrieked, "Dad!"

He laughed at my downtrodden face. This meant war.

I grabbed both of the corn dogs and he clearly got the drift because his eyes widened. I mimiced taking big, meaningful bites from each one and dad made a sound like a deflating tire.

"You wouldn't!" He yelled dramatically, pointing the bag at me like a weapon of war.

The cashier was watching us both out of the corner of his eye, but most of his attention was on his phone screen.

"Try me!" I declared. Dad laughed as I called him out and promptly declared his surrender.

We both tumbled out of the store and back outside. It was a little chilly for summer, but we were both too jittery and tired of sitting down. The chance to stretch out our legs was worth the cool wind nipping at my nose.

Our snack break lasted another ten minutes before I regrettably wiped the last few crumbs off of my hands and hopped back into the car's interior. This time, I lay down in the backseat. My dad slurped up the rest of the slushie and ran back inside to throw out the cup.

I considered starting up another recording, but my eyes were closing and I decided I could document's my dad's weird behavior later. We still had a ways to go until we got to Happy Harbor.

My dad returned and queued up some calming jazz, and we settled back on the road.

 **author's note:** not a lot of action in this one, but we get a glimpse into the world of superheroes and whatnot. im still trying to figure out ellen's character, but i promise they'll be in happy harbor in the next chapter


	3. Chapter 3

"The new house in Happy Harbor is smaller than what I am used to. I think I'm going to really miss living in a two-story home. Now what am I supposed to do to listen in on conversations? Duck around corners like a novice?" I commented quietly into my little recorder.

Not quietly enough, because I could hear my dad's bark of laughter right outside of my room. A thump soon followed and I shook my head in mock dismay.

"Less laughing, more working!" I shouted imperiously in his direction. I rounded the corner and watched him try to pick up the box he'd dropped in the wake of his laughter.

My recorder's blinking red light studiously went ignored.

 _What was I meant to do? I couldn't charge it if we hadn't even unpacked yet!_

I rolled my eyes and moved back to my new room before peeking out the window. The rest of the neighborhood was quiet. I could see a little girl unsteadily toddling out of the front door. A boy slightly older than he followed, scooping her up in a panic and shutting the front door.

I flicked on my steadily dying recorder.

"Window is a safety hazard. Consider heavy blackout curtains," I mumbled.

"Noted." My dad's amused tenor rang out right behind her.

Ellen startled.

"Dad!" She shouted.

"Oh, uh, boo?" He smiled guiltily at her expression, "Sorry, kid. You scare easily and I can't really help that."

I glared at him in mock anger, then went back to looking around the empty room.

 _I don't think I will ever grow used to the intricacies of living in a one floor household._ _What am I supposed to do if I'm was angry? There's now way for me to stomp up the stairs in a huff anymore._ _Nor can I collapse in the middle of a staircase dramatically as per usual._

 _What are the alternatives? Laying down in the middle of the living room? Too unoriginal_

"Dad, I miss stairs."

A hand ruffled my hair and my dad smiled ruefully.

"You'll get used to it. Soon, you'll wish you lived here your whole life!"

I snorted and went back to examining the window frame. The pattern was perfectly bland and couldn't occupy my attention for very long.

"Let's go get pizza, dad. I'm hungry."

"What, again? I thought after those corn-dogs you'd be full for at least another month."

"Daaad," I groaned. "Come on, I know you're hungry too. If we get lucky, maybe we'll catch a superhero or a mugging in action."

Since my dad's announcement that we would be moving to Happy Harbor, home of the heroes, I had shut myself in and consumed as much information about the city as possible. Wikipedia binges, crime statistics, and all known information on the heroes that resided here.

Sure, I studied them in history and saw footage and even the rare interview on the news, but knowing that I might see these heroes in person, heroing away, was another matter entirely.

Once, in an attempt to put an eight year old me to sleep, my dad told me a story about the one time Canary had saved him and a few of his buddies during what was meant to be a silly, slightly drunken outing to a comedy club.

"I wanna be like that!" I had declared, springing out of my bed covers in my excitement.

The story inevitably failed to put me to sleep, and it took my mom's coaxing and a glass of milk to get me to go back to bed. That night, I lay awake, invigorated at the prospect of my future. I saw my life unfolding before me in the form of heroism and danger.

I was still young enough to enjoy being tucked into bed by my parents, but my dreams came alive with explosions and colorful, eye-catching costumes.

My dad doesn't and has never appreciated my dreams of grandeur. Though he's hesitantly encouraged me on my path to becoming a PI, or else a detective, super heroism isn't really in the cards.

"Ellen, please."

I know that tone of voice. He always sounds the same whenever we begin this argument. Then again, so do I.

"The further you stay away from superheroes, the safer you'll be. I don't want you to get hurt," Dad sighed.

My dad was always fully aware of the risks that came with moving here - villain attacks, an increased chances of getting grievously injured or killed, my likelihood to run off and do stupid things and get hurt in the name of 'investigating', and my interest in superheroes in general.

I don't know what finally convinced him to move here. I guess the job offer was too good to be true.

The divorce had sucked the life out of my dad and emotionally and financially destroyed him. _Carla_ \- every time I thought her name, I shuddered and felt like making a cross wih my hands - had nearly sucked him dry, and taken all that she could get. Nice of her, considering he was the one with custody of me.

I chose not to answer my dad and retread the same argument. I grabbed the car keys from the coat rack near the doorway and hopped into the car.

My dad followed with a fond, worried look on his face. He adjusted his glasses and before the atmosphere of the car grew any tenser, I turned on the radio. There was no use arguing now. I wasn't going to listen, anyway.

In the back of my mind, I just hoped that my dad didn't know what he was talking about, and that I wouldn't have to learn how right he was the hard way.


End file.
